


No Man's Land

by MsRookroll



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Crime Fighting, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery, Organized Crime, Original Character(s), Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:06:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23465866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsRookroll/pseuds/MsRookroll
Summary: “That’s why I’m here. Because you saved the city and I need you to do it again. Plus, you owe me a favor.” An old acquaintance and a new case lead Jessica to a tangle with the mob, as she tries to prevent a war between two rival families. To make matters worse, the cheap bourbon is not to blame for her nausea . Set after The Defenders.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. The Bomb

Griffin Sinclair knew that, when it came to his girlfriend’s attention, he had some fierce competition. The paparazzi he could handle, but the phone was another story. It wasn’t phone per se, it was the person at the other end that was out of his league. He was learning to accept it, this is how it would be, but he wished of all nights he could have had this one. Now at the restaurant, by the way Trish kept glancing at the phone on the table, he already knew, even before the call came, that it was Jessica. Griffin looked around hoping the waiter would hurry with the desserts. Trish’s phone only vibrated once, before she answered. Griffin looked at her.

“Jess?”

Griffin sighed.

“Are you okay?”

Judging by Trish’s frown, Jess was definitely _not_ okay.

“Where are you? Okay, alright, don’t move. Don’t move, I’m on my way.”

Trish ended the call and saved the phone in her purse.

“I’m so sorry, it’s just,” she said, struggling to put her jacket back on.

“I know,” he said, sighing, as he helped her with the jacket. “It’s okay, go find her.”

“I love you,” Trish concluded before giving him a kiss and walking out of the restaurant.

Griffin sat again and sighed, thinking he shouldn’t have waited for dessert, but hidden the ring in the champagne glass instead.

At first Trish thought there was something wrong with the location, then she realized it was just like Jessica to be in a seemingly abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere. She was still a block away and driving as fast as she could, when she noticed a cloud of black smoke and ashes falling on the windshield.

“Shit,” Trish said, as she slowed down slightly.

The air smelled of gunpowder. Then she saw the warehouse in question was ruined, pieces of brick and metal were scattered across the lot while a column of black smoke rose to the sky. Jessica was nowhere to be found. Trish parked, and got out of the car.

“Jess! Where are you!”

Trish stopped to cough a bit as the smoke went into her nostrils and throat.

“Trish?”

Trish turned to the left where she saw Jessica, limping slightly and holding her right arm close to her chest.

“Jess, are you okay?”

When her best friend stepped closer, Trish got the answer. Jessica’s forehead was scrapped, while her pants had ripped on her left knee exposing a bleeding wound, but most importantly there was a sheet of metal protruding from Jessica’s right arm.

“Oh my God, Jess, we need to go to the hospital,” Trish said, opening the car door for her.

“It looks worse than it is,” Jessica replied, stepping into the car. “I can move my fingers so I guess it didn’t cut anything important.”

Trish closed her door and entered the car as well.

“It’s really not that deep, but I can’t take this crap out because blood would come out all over,” Jessica continued, looking at the piece of metal lodged in her arm. “It’d ruin the leather seats.”

“I don’t care about the leather seats, Jess,” Trish said, starting the car. “Put on your seatbelt. Why didn’t you call an ambulance?”

“You call an ambulance and next thing you know reporters are showing up as well, you know how it is,” Jessica replied, slightly touching the skin near the metal and grimacing. “The last thing I need right now is to bring any more attention to myself. I just need to go home, get this shit out, clean it up and I’ll be alright in a couple of hours.”

“We’re going to the hospital.”

“Trish—”

“ _We’re going to the hospital.”_

“Fine.”

“What even happened in there?”

“Nothing good.”

“Jess, I should be able to tell the doctors something in case you pass out before we get there.”

“I’m not passing out, I feel fine.”

“You look pale as shit.”

“So? That’s how I always look.”

Trish glared at her.

“Fine, I’ll tell you, just don’t freak out…”

“When has saying ‘don’t freak out’ ever stopped anyone from freaking out?”

“I was hoping this would be the first time.”

“Jess!”

“There was a bomb, okay?”

“A bomb! A bomb-bomb? Was anyone else there, should I go back, what? Why?”

“It’s okay no one’s hurt. There was no one else, it was a special treat just for me.”

“Is this about _that_ case?”

By the way Jessica remained silent, Trish knew the answer.

“You can’t…this can’t go on like this, Jess, you’re gonna end up dead! You have to tell me what’s going on.”

“Trish, I don’t—”

“You don’t want to put me in any danger, I know, I know. But look at that,” Trish pointed with one hand at the metal scrap on Jessica’s arm. “You’ll end up dead, if you don’t let us help, and we can’t help if we have no idea of what’s going on. Plus, by the looks of all of this, we might already be in danger.”

Jessica sighed deeply, she gave a brief look at her wounded arm, before looking out the window where the buildings were flying by. She began:

“Two weeks ago, someone came into my office…”


	2. Two Weeks Ago

Jessica could no longer ignore the throbbing. It had begun in her forehead, but she could now feel it inside her head. She knew it wasn't a regular hangover because if it were, it would be over by now. Perhaps the flue. Whatever this headache was, it was here to stay, so she poured herself a glass of bourbon, hoping it'd make it stop. Jessica drank half of it and sat back on her desk where Malcom was sorting files. Since the whole thing with The Hand at Midland Circle, she had been flooded with cases.

"Who would've have guessed this hero shit would turn out to be such good PR," Jessica said, stacking some of the files.

"With the amount of work coming in, we should seriously consider hiring someone to help," Malcom suggested.

Jessica glared at him, and drank a sip of bourbon in silence. She still wasn't completely okay with how comfortable Malcom was working for her. _With her_ , he'd correct, and he'd be wrong.

"I'm done with new faces for a while," she replied, putting the glass down. "A long while."

 _Too much human interaction, that's probably what's drilling my head._ She refrained from saying it out loud considering that it would invite a line of questioning regarding said headache, and she didn't have the patience.

There was a knock on the door and Malcom stood up to open it.

"And they just keep coming," he said, before leaving the room.

Jessica kept organizing the papers, listening the creak of the door opening. _I should get that fixed, eventually._

"Good morning, welcome to Alias investigation." Jessica heard Malcom say.

The positive side, she'd admit, of having him work for her was his ability to tolerate bullshit or, as some other people might call it "be friendly". He was way better at handling the clients that she ever was.

"Good morning," a woman's voice replied…with a French accent?

Jessica stopped for a moment, and listened. It seemed like a vaguely familiar voice. She finished the bourbon and placed the glass down.

"I'm looking for Ms. Jones."

Jessica stood up, and walked towards the entrance where she confirmed her suspicions.

"Marguerite Fournier," Jessica said, looking at the French woman by the door.

"Jessica Jones," the woman replied, smiling.

"What are you doing here?"

"To hire you, of course."

"Malcom, why don't you go out and get some bagels."

"Hmm…"

"Now."

"Alright." He nodded to excuse himself and walked out of the apartment, giving Jessica one last look to say _we'll talk about this later_.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" Marguerite asked, following Jessica towards the office.

Jessica gestured for her to have a seat, while she did the same behind the desk.

"Do you mind if I drink?" she replied, refilling her glass.

Marguerite let out a small chuckle as she took out a cigarette from a little silver case. Her nails were painted red, which matched her lipstick. Her brown hair was tied in a neat braid while a bang covered a portion of her forehead. She lighted the cigarette, let the smoke come out of her nostrils and looked at Jessica.

"I need your help."

"Things have changed a lot since last time. I'm a P.I now."

"I know. You're also into the hero business these days," Marguerite said, calmly. "I read all about it in the papers."

"I wouldn't call it that."

"Business?"

"Hero."

Marguerite smirked and tapped the cigarette so the ashes would fall on an empty glass on the desk.

"That's why I'm here," Marguerite continued. "Because you saved the city and I need you to do it again. Plus, you owe me a favor."

Jessica was silent, she drank from her glass.

"I want you to stop a war."

"What?"

"Constantin is missing. He has been for a while."

"That little shit is probably passed out in some poor spring breaker's hotel room or maybe he locked himself in the bathroom of some strip club, he'll be back soon, I wouldn't worry too much about it."

"I agree, but you know who doesn't? His father. Monsieur Beaumont thinks Ma Thompson and her people are behind this, he's practically convinced and ready to act. If he does, I'm afraid we'll have a war in our hands. And you know how these things go, innocent people will pay the price in the end."

"So, you want me to find the brat?"

"Precisely. And in the very unlikely case Ma Thompson _is_ involved in this, I want to know before Beaumont does."

Jessica sighed and finished her glass.

"Fine."

"Good, I'll pay you for the trouble as well."

"No. I owe you one, plus I don't want the Beaumont's money."

"I respect that, but I had something better in mind," Marguerite said, dropping what was left of her cigarette on the glass. "How about a list of the dirty cops working for Ma Thompson?"

"You have that?"

Marguerite gave a small chuckle and stood up. "It's a deal then. I'll send you whatever I have that can help you find Constantin."

Jessica stood up as well, perhaps too quickly because the office spun around her a couple of times. She steadied herself and walked Marguerite to the door.

"Thank you, Jessica," Marguerite said, before walking away. "And I would call you that."

"What?"

"Hero."

Jessica closed the door wondering how had she agreed to working for the mob _again_ , and this time for free.

* * *

"Who was that?" Malcom asked, placing the paper bag with the unwanted bagels on Jessica's desk.

"I need you to take the cases," Jessica said, without looking away from her computer.

"Which ones?"

"All of them."

"What?"

"Temporarily," Jessica said, looking at Malcom. "There's something important I need to look into. Can you handle that?"

"Y-yeah, sure. But…what is…who was that?"

"The less you know, the better. Trust me."

"Okay…I guess, I'll get going then…Let me know if you need anything."

"Alright."

Some moments after leaving the office, Jessica stopped because the bagels' smell was driving her crazy, and not in a good way. She stood up and saved them in the kitchen, before going back to her desk. Now, more focused, she could resume her work.

Constantin Beaumont was the youngest of the three Beaumont siblings, and undoubtedly the most reckless as well. He was a fan of house music and pool parties, as well as sampling the assorted recreational drugs his family dealt. He was still enrolled in NYU, even if he had only set foot in campus once or twice. With the amount of money he'd spent in a single day, he should be relatively easy to find. Nevertheless, the Beaumont's steered away from credit cards and banks as much as possible, precisely to avoid paper trails. Everything was cash. He was last seen in one of his family's penthouses, near Central Park. It was a place to start and Marguerite had already sent Jessica the passcode to enter. She had also assured her no one was there, so she'd be able to snoop around in peace, which she intended to do tonight, even though part of her was telling her all of this could still be a trap.

 _Only one way to know_ , she concluded, saving her phone in the pocket of her jacket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello, hello! Here's the second chapter, I'm having so much fun with this story and I hope you like it too. What happened with Marguerite and the Beaumont will be revealed throughout the story...
> 
> Stay safe everyone,
> 
> Greetings from Colombia


	3. Upstairs, Downstairs

_Only the fucking Beaumont's could take a new penthouse and make it look like something Marie Antionette would throw away because it was too fucking much._

That was Jessica's first thought as she stepped into the apartment, and was assaulted by the gilded furniture, the white marble floor and the Rococo paintings on the walls and ceiling. The Beaumont prided themselves of being old fashioned, they had values, tradition, or so they would say. That was why monsieur Beaumont insisted on keeping the business within the family, even if none of his children seemed particularly interested on it, and the one who did, Constantin, was completely inept at it. Everyone knew it was Beaumont's accountant and right-hand woman, Marguerite Fournier, who was keeping things afloat.

Above the huge ebony fireplace, was a painting of the Beaumont family. Monsieur and madame standing in the back, with their three children sitting on a mint green sofa next to a little brown and white dog.

_I hate this._

The oversaturated decor was making Jessica physically ill. Or at least she chose to think that was the cause, that way she didn't have to think too much about it. She went downstairs to look for the bedrooms. There was another small living room there that connected four separate rooms.

Everything had been cleaned, the beds were neatly made and the bathrooms sparkling. No towels or toilet paper, though, which meant the apartment hadn't been used in a while. Inside the rooms there wasn't much either. She looked around, inside drawers and under the beds, nothing. The trash cans had been emptied. Before she could continue, a noise coming from upstairs made Jessica stop. Was she imagining something?

No, those were definitely footsteps and voices, coming closer now. She rushed inside Constantin's room and hid inside the closet. She was still, quiet. It was too late for someone to come cleaning. She heard the steps coming down, as a woman's voice rose.

"Hurry, we don't have much time."

They were definitely downstairs.

"I have to be home in half an hour."

"More than enough time," a man's voice replied.

_Shit._

Jessica tried not to move. If they did hurry, she could wait it out. Meanwhile, she dug into the pockets of the few jackets stored inside closet. Jackpot. Crumpled papers, coins, cards, all of which she stuffed it in her own pockets indiscriminately. She also touched something mushy which nearly triggered her gag reflex, and made her hunch over.

"Did you hear something?"

"It's the neighbors."

And then, as if prompted, a ringing phone. No, not _a_ phone, hers. Jessica quickly checked her pockets and discovered she had left her phone outside on the night stand. She bolted out of the closet to try to reach it, but too late, there were steps approaching and she was forced to return to the closet, just as the couple stepped into the room. The closet's door had remained slightly open, but she couldn't close it before risking them noticing it. The room's light was turn on and a little streak of it painted Jessica's face yellow. Her heartbeat was racing.

"There's a phone there," a man said.

Jessica saw his face briefly, as he walked towards the night stand. He had a brown beard and a thick nose, but she couldn't see the rest. Then the woman followed him. Jessica could be wrong, it was hard to see, but that looked like Claudette, the eldest of the Beaumont children. Yes, Claudette Beaumont, joined by, judging by the context, a man who was most definitely not her husband. Coincidentally, Claudette was also the Beaumont who hated Jessica the most.

"The maid probably left it here," Claudette said.

"Should we leave it somewhere else where she'll see it?"

"No, if we move it, she'll know we were here. Just leave it there, and come over here."

_No, not here._

Jessica could hear them kissing now.

"Wait, not in Tin-Tin's room."

"Why not, this room has probably seen some shit."

"Stop that."

"What? Don't tell me you're worried, we both know he's having fun somewhere. The little asshole."

"Yeah, he's an asshole, but he's also my brother and I have a bad feeling about this."

"Well, it's not like the business will suffer in his absence."

"Oh no, we're probably doing better. But you know, he's the only one who remembers to feed the cat and place flowers on Nana's grave, so there's that. But, I don't know, I'm starting to get worried. C'mon now, I didn't come here to talk about my brother."

Jessica sighed with relief, a bit too loud because the footsteps stopped. Jessica heard the steps approaching a bit. Then a hand came towards the closet door. Jessica bit her lips, clenched her fists, but the hand simply pushed the closet door to close it.

"I hate this apartment," the man complained as the footsteps began to walk away.

"We all do."

Jessica waited until the room was back in silence. She couldn't stand it much longer, and so, as soon as the coast was clear, she rushed out of the closet, grabbed her phone and opened the balcony door. She closed it behind her and jumped to the street.

She called Marguerite as she walked away quickly.

"I'm going to kill you, Fournier."

"I didn't expect to hear that so soon. What happened?"

"Are you playing some sort of game?"

"What?"

"Fucking Claudette Beaumont walked into the apartment with some guy!"

"What? I was sure no one was using the apartment. I…What guy? Oh my God, please don't let it be the new chef, no one makes salad dressing like him."

"I don't know what guy, I was too busy trying not to get caught."

"Listen, I'm sorry, if I had known she was going to go in there, I would've given you a warning."

Perhaps it was the jump or the damp air she had breathed inside the closet, but Jessica had to stop. She leaned next to a nearby bush and emptied her stomach.

"I swear I didn't know," Marguerite continued on the phone. "Did they see you?"

Jessica breathed in and out deeply.

"Jessica?"

"No, they didn't."

"Good. I'm sorry about that. I'll make sure—"

Jessica hung up. She could really use a drink at the moment. She walked back to the office hoping that whatever she had found inside the apartment, was worth the trouble.

* * *

Inventory (what was retrieved from the jackets):

Two nickels.

A crumpled and presumably dirty napkin.

A receipt from a pharmacy for:

-Sunblock.

-Condoms.

-Toothpaste.

-A protein shake

Three pennies.

A receipt from a restaurant called Sardi's.

-Dinner for two.

A torn receipt for a large pizza:

-Half pepperoni

-Half mushrooms, olives and onion (?) it was hard to tell.

A crumpled five-dollar bill (definitely had been on the washer).

* * *

"Do you understand what I'm saying?" Jessica asked, looking at the waiter.

She was wearing sunglasses, hoping they'd somehow help with her headache, but the morning sun was shining bright on her face, regardless. The young man tried to walk back into the restaurant.

"I have to get back to work, pal, okay?" he protested, as Jessica extended her arm to block his way.

"What I'm saying, _pal,_ is that it's too early to dangle someone off a ledge," she grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and lifted him effortlessly. "So, don't make me do it."

"Y-you're one of those!" the waiter complained, struggling to get himself free.

"Oh no," Jessica pushed him against a wall. "I'm worse."

She guided a punch towards his face.

"Stop! Stop!" he yelled, gasping. "I'll tell you!"

Jessica lowered her fist, but still pinned him against the wall.

"I'm all ears."

"He was here about a month ago. He, he came with a girl, they ate, he drank."

Jessica reached for her phone.

"Would you recognize the girl he was with?"

She showed him some of the pictures Constantin had uploaded.

"You're not gonna find her there."

"Why not?"

"Have you looked at this dump?" the waiter motioned his head towards the restaurant's entrance. "This isn't the place he brings the girls he wants to be seen with."

"That's incredibly—"

"His words, not mine. He even said he hates the food here, but there's a motel right across the street, so he keeps coming back."

"A motel? I didn't see anything."

"Did you see the bakery?"

"Yeah…"

"It's on the basement. It has no signs, but it's there. They open late at night, you just go in and ask for 'Klaus'."

Jessica stared at him, trying to determine if he was lying.

"I swear, I swear!"

Jessica let the waiter go.

"Great," she sighed. She'd had to pay visit to 'Klaus' tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello, hello! Thank you for reading, I hope you're enjoying the story. Here in Colombia we continue with the quarantine, so it's nice to write and think of other things, instead of...everything. I hope that, wherever you are, you're safe!
> 
> Greetings from Colombia


	4. Not the Hero

_"It's very simple, sweetheart," Constantin Beaumont told Jessica as he walked by her to reach the pool. "If you see anyone with a black fish tattoo, you snap their fucking necks."_

_"Call me 'sweetheart' again," Jessica replied calmly, "and I'll snap your neck instead."_

_"You know," he stopped to lower his sunglasses and look at her, "you're the hottest bodyguard we've had so far, it's such a shame about your personality."_

_And with that he dived into the pool splashing water all over._

_"Finally, something for me to put on my gravestone," Jessica growled as she shook some water from the black dress that acted as her work uniform._

_"He's tolerable in small doses," Claudette Beaumont intervened, handing Jessica a towel. She was a tall woman with grey eyes and bright blonde hair. "But he is right about the tattoos. Ma Thompson's goons are all branded with it, like cattle."_

_"They should be easy to spot, then."_

_"Let's hope… Now, was Marguerite clear on what you should do in case they pay us a visit at the meeting tomorrow?"_

_"No cops, be as discrete as possible, keep you and your family safe. Seems simple."_

_"No children or animals get hurt. Father's rules."_

_"Good. Was Marguerite clear about my fees?"_

_"Pay up front, cash, seems simple."_

_"I warn you, I'm not afraid of getting my hands dirty, but I won't kill anyone."_

_"Let's hope it doesn't come to that, Ms. Jones."_

_"And I might also have to increase my fees, if I have to keep interacting with your brother."_

_"Don't worry, he certainly won't be at the meeting tomorrow."_

* * *

_Isn't it funny, Jessica, how the past, just like the scum, keeps coming back to the surface?_

Jessica shook her head to erase Killgrave's voice, as she walked down the street. She would hear him now and then, but usually more in nights like that, lonely nights, when her head would go on and on with a thousand exhausting thoughts. It was still better than the nightmares, especially the ones with Hope, the ones that always ended with the both of them covered in a pool of warm blood. On nights like that, she was tempted to call Trish, but she refrained from doing so, knowing she was calmly sleeping by Griffin's side and Jessica could at least let her have that.

_As long as I have my booze._

Jessica looked at an open bar, and was tempted to go in, but for now she needed to focus on the motel. She kept walking, ignoring her throbbing headache. There was a ring from her phone, a new email. A reporter who wanted to make a story on the whole Midland Circle thing. Jessica began typing a reply.

_I don't know what you've heard. I'm not Iron Fist, or Cage or the Devil. I've done…I've done things, I'm not… I'm not the fucking hero of your story._

She erased it and deleted the email instead. What she really hated, what really got in her nerves, was the praise. If they could just stop... She didn't want to be in the spotlight and she wanted it even less, if all they were going to do was praise her and turn her into this ridiculous paragon. How did Trish deal with that? Having a public persona that was nothing like herself?

_With coke, mostly._

Not now, though, Tirsh was doing fine now, so there was hope. Maybe that was the point of the whole _masked_ vigilante bullshit, to have a proper alter ego. Maybe Murdock had the right idea there. That way people would be praising someone else, an idea, and not her because arguably the most heroic thing she had ever done in her life was getting rid of Killgrave and even that was just called murder. That was it, that was her power, in the end.

She spotted the bakery. If the waiter was to be trusted, she would just have to go inside. The lights were on and it was open, highly suspicious for a regular bakery. Jessica looked at herself at the reflection, she had done her hair and was wearing makeup, sunglasses (even if it was nighttime) and a dress. She prepared her ditzy voice and hoped the glasses would be enough to keep her from recognition.

A little bell chimed as she entered the bakery. There were cameras in the corners. She needed to get that security footage.

"Hey, gorgeous!" she chanted, walking over the counter. "I'm looking for Klaus."

"Sure, this way, doll," a man with his black hair combed backwards said, walking towards a set of stairs.

"Black door," he said, clicking his tongue.

Jessica blew him a kiss and walked downstairs into a small space where there were two bathroom-doors and a black door which she pushed to find a second set of stairs. They lead to a small lobby. The walls were painted with black and grey stripes while the carpet was navy blue and a there was plastic plant on the corner under a mirror with a golden frame. Overall it was a pretty decent place, nice even, a lot better than the dirty bathroom stall from the bar. There was a small ebony desk on which a red headed woman was sitting.

"Hi, gorgeous," the woman greeted. "Are you waiting for someone or is someone waiting for you?"

Jessica approached the desk. She could a see screen split in four, showing simultaneous images of the bakery, the lobby, the stairs and a corridor.

"Miss?" the redheaded woman asked.

"Oh sorry, I'm a bit nervous," Jessica said. "It's my first time here, a good friend of mine recommended me this place, maybe you've heard of him, Constantin Beaumont."

"Oh Constantin, of course. I haven't seen him in a while, tell me him that we miss him around here. Oh, are you waiting for him?"

"No, it's someone else, to tell you the truth, I'm crazy about this guy and I want to make sure everything goes perfect tonight."

"Aww, don't worry, sweetie, we'll make sure this is a night to remember. Unfortunately, we only have one room left, it's a very small place, but if you want take a look at it and let me know if you want anything, love. Here."

She handed Jessica a silver key, with a little red tassel for keychain.

"Room 4, down the corridor to the right."

"Thanks!"

Jessica looked around the corridor. There were several smoke detectors on the roof and a camera in the corner. Inside the room, there was a double bed and a huge mirror covered one of the walls completely. There was a fake window on the opposing wall, with curtains and everything, featuring an autumn forest. Jessica figured all she needed was a distraction, so she could get the security footage and then head out. She looked at a no smoking sign by the door and then glanced at fire detector and sprinkler on the roof. Jessica took a lighter from her purse and went for the curtains.

"Help! Help! Please!"

The woman on the desk nearly fell from her chair when Jessica came running down the corridor.

"Please, I dropped my cigarette on the curtains!"

"What! You're not supposed to smoke in there!" the woman said, while pressing a button on the desk. "Johnny come quick we have a problem down here!"

"Please, there's a lot of smoke!"

It was true, they could smell it from there. The woman headed down the corridor, soon followed by the man who came running down the stairs. With the desk clear, Jessica could go in and take several discs worth of footage, which she saved in the purse. She rushed outside, wondering why the alarms hadn't gone off yet. She waited a couple of seconds, only the smoke was coming out. Then she realized it. Those smoke detectors? As fake as the windows. She called the emergency line, left her purse on the bakery, took off her high heels and rushed back downstairs.

A thick cloud of smoke made her cough and prompted tears that made it even harder to see where she was going. Upon reaching the corridor, she knocked on the doors of the rooms as hard as she could, even breaking a couple of them.

"Run! There's a fire! Run! Fire! Get out! Get out!"

Some doors opened and men and women in their underwear began running upstairs.

"Help! Please! I can't move!" Came a voice from room three, right next to the source of the fire.

Jessica broke the door and entered to find the room was filled with smoke. Amidst the cloud she could see a man and a woman on the bed. As she walked closer she realized the man had fainted on top of the woman, and he was considerably bigger than her.

"Please! I can't move him!"

Jessica held the man and lifted him. "Go, go, get out, run!" she said.

The woman rushed out of the room, while Jessica dragged the man outside. Nevertheless, the smoke was getting to her too, and she was starting to feel light headed. She ignored it as she carried the man into the corridor. The flames had now reached room 4's entrance. Jessica left the man for a second to check if there was anyone else left. The red headed woman had fainted inside the room, as the flames now had fully engulfed the curtains and were crawling over from floor to roof. The heat would make the mirror break any second now. Jessica rushed in to carry the woman.

Just as Jessica exited the room, she heard the glass shattering. Now, in the corridor, she could feel the heat on her arms, legs and face, but she kept moving to where she the unconscious man was. She would have to carry them upstairs.

Jessica tried placing both, the man and the woman on her back and carry them at the same time, but her left knee gave out and the three nearly stumbled down the first few steps. Jessica stopped. She carried the woman first, rushed upstairs and left her outside by the group of people that had just escaped. Then, she returned.

The fire had grown and the flames were heading towards the makeshift lobby where the naked man was. Jessica stepped in and carried him, doing her best not to think what was in contact with what. As she went up the stairs, one of the steps gave out and her foot went through the wood. The flames were so close, and she felt a sting on her leg.

"This will hurt tomorrow, man," she apologized to the unconscious man before clumsily tossing him up the stairs, so he'd land ahead, further from the flames. Then she used both hands to free her foot, she pulled and, just as the flames were reaching her, she managed to free it. She finally made it outside in the middle of a cloud of smoke, with her purse, and carrying the naked man on her arms. She heard cameras clicking, of course the paparazzi had arrived before the firefighters. Jessica placed the man down carefully and panted, feeling the smoke burning her throat, and her leg aching.

"You saved them!" someone exclaimed.

"She's hurt!"

"Quick! Miss, are you alright?"

"There's help on the way!"

Jessica felt she was about to faint, but after a deep breath the world stopped spinning and her head cleared. With one of her jumps she disappeared.

* * *

The coffee was doing little to help Malcom's exhaustion. He drank from the cup regardless and stopped by the office to leave the other coffee he had bought for Jessica. He knew that whatever it was she was working on, it was probably keeping her as exhausted as he was dealing with the rest of the cases. He knocked on the door but there was no answer, so he entered all the same. Malcom made his way to the desk, where Jessica was seated, fixed on the screen of her computer, with her left leg outstretched and resting on a chair.

Malcom was about to joke about the fact Jessica was wearing shorts, but he stopped upon noticing the skin on her leg was red and blistered with patches of pink flesh.

"Oh my God," he said, stopping. "What happened to you?"

"Fire," she replied, without looking up. "Is that coffee?"

"Jessica, you should get that checked," he said, handing her the cup. "Yeah, this for you."

"It's much better now, in a couple of hours it'll be back to normal. Thanks."

"Do you need any help?" Malcom asked, rubbing his neck unable to stop looking at the wounds on her leg.

"No. I don't want anyone else to get involved in this shit."

"Jess, it looks like…whatever this is, it's a lot."

"I'm okay, Malcom."

"Jess…"

"Don't make me fire you."

"We both know you can't afford that right now."

"You want to bet?"

"Fine, but if you need help, I'll be working next door, so call me."

Jessica nodded. Malcom walked towards the door.

"Malcom, wait!"

He walked back. "Yeah?"

"Could you please bring me a trashcan or something?"

"What?"

"Just in case I throw up again."

"Again?"

"Please."

"Sure, but I insist you should call a doctor, Jess, why not call Claire?" Malcom said while leaving the trashcan from the kitchen by the desk.

Nevertheless, Jessica didn't hear him because right then, looking at the security footage, she finally saw Constantin entering the motel. A few moments later another man appeared. Jessica paused, took a screenshot and zoomed.

The man had a black fish tattoo on his neck.


	5. Who Loves Constantin Beaumont?

_I don't want to talk about that bastard._

_I know he was a bit…a bit childish, but he was also…_

_A complete idiot. He cheated on me with my sister…_

_He's missing? Great, I don't want to hear from him again. Ever._

_…and then he had the nerve to show up at my birthday party…._

_He's really sweet, when you get to know him. I mean, really know him._

_…with my sister._

_He's not even that good in bed. Just a couple of minutes and that's it, you know what I mean?_

_He cares about his family, he really does, even if they treat him like shit._

_One time we were just at it and he just broke down crying. I mean we were high as fuck, but that's just weird, right?_

_He only cares about that stupid car._

_I'm sure he gave me herpes. He denied it, but who else could it be?_

_That had never happened to me before. Passing out, throwing up, yeah, but crying? That was new._

_I think he's really lonely._

_He forgot my name during sex once or twice, but crying? No, never._

_I don't think he really cared about me, I was just something to do. Something that looked pretty next to him._

_His grandma's death hit him very hard, she was the only one from his family who cared about him. Can't blame them though, the guy was the worst._

_He dumped me because I got a haircut. I'm not exaggerating, I got a haircut and that was it._

_If you ask me, he has some complex when it comes to his family. Always trying to prove something to them._

_And then the fucking cherry on top, he left me to romance a nun._

"Wait, wait, wait." After hours of calling Beaumont's friends and girlfriends, Jessica had finally stumbled upon something especially odd. She pressed the phone closer to her ear. "Did you say a nun?"

"Yeah, a nun, you can't make this shit up," the woman on the phone replied. "He would drive to this place, Saint Camille's or something like that, to see her. That's fucked up, if you ask me."

"Saint Camille's, is that a monastery?"

"I don't know and frankly, I don't care. I don't want anything to do with that asshole. I broke up with my boyfriend to be with him and all he gave me in return was a rash."

"And you haven't heard from him since?"

"Nothing."

"Thanks for your help, and…just a heads up, you might want to get that rash checked."

After the call ended, a quick search revealed there was no Saint Camille's, but there was a Saint Camillus de Lellis, and it wasn't a monastery, but a hospice. Why was Constantin Beaumont going to a hospice? Was he really romancing a nun? Did someone find out? Could he be there? Was he hiding? Was Jessica going to throw up?

She could only answer that last question, and even the why still remained a mystery. She hadn't drunk nearly enough for that. Was it something she ate? As she clung to the toilet, Jessica tried to remember the last time she ate at all. She couldn't even recall, but whatever this was, it was getting harder to ignore. Harder, but not impossible.

* * *

The first thing one noticed, when approaching the L shaped building of Saint Camillus de Lellis Hospice was the garden. Row and rows of perfectly kept daisies, violets, carnations, and roses above which bees hummed greeted the visitors as they walked down a stone path that led to the entrance. To the right, there was a small fountain where water was splashing and an arch covered by a climbing plant and orange flowers next to a wooden bench where an old woman and a nun where sitting. Neither of them seemed to take note as Jessica approached the buildings entrance.

The huge wooden gates were opened, so Jessica entered into a small room with a checkered floor. There was a set of stairs and corridors to either side, but no one was around. A piercing smell hit her nose, very chemical with a hint of artificial mint and lemon, a scent she had smelled before, at the morgue. Jessica decided to go towards the corridor to the right, but as she gave a couple of steps, a voice chimed in.

"Welcome, dear. How may we help you today?"

Jessica turned around and was a greeted by an elderly woman cloaked in a black and white habit. She was leaning on a wooden cane and she limped slightly as she approached Jessica.

"I'm looking for a place, for my grandfather."

"Oh, dear, I'm sorry to hear that," the nun gave a Jessica a warm smile, which made her feel a pressure on her chest, she didn't want to lie to a nun. "But you've come to the right place, please, follow me to my office. I'm sister Ethel, come along, dear."

With that they walked down the corridor to the left. At one side there was a huge window pane through which the sun came in, to the other there were closed doors with numbers. One of them was open and Jessica could see an empty hospital bed, with clean blue sheets and a TV in the corner. Even though it was an old building, everything inside seemed new. Upon reaching the end of the hall, sister Ethel pushed the door and they stepped into a small office with a very high ceiling. There was a huge oak desk and enormous oil paintings of saints decorated the walls. On wooden shelves on the sides were huge labeled folders. They kept track of everything by hand, it seemed. Jessica sat on a chair with green tapestry in front of the desk. On top of it there was a framed picture of Baby Jesus and a vase with white gardenias. Through fragrant, they did little to mask the chemical smell.

"I know these are very difficult moments for you and your family, my dear," sister Ethel said, taking a seat behind the desk. "And we're here to do whatever is in our power to ease the pain of your grandfather and offer some comfort."

"Thank you," Jessica mumbled. All that unearned sympathy was starting to make her sick, or perhaps it was the odd combination of smells. "Could you tell me a little bit about this place?"

"Sure. Here at Saint Camillus, we focus on giving our guests the three c's: comfort, calm and contentment. We take care of them, provide good meals and offer medical services. Visiting hours are not limited, but if you plan to stay overnight we do encourage calling in advance."

"And how much does it cost?"

"We cover everything. From meals to medication, except for special equipment that might be required, sadly we can't cover that."

"What? All of this is free?"

Sister Ethel nodded.

"Of course, any donation is welcomed, but we do not charge for anything."

"That explains why my friend recommended this place so much. You must know him, Constantin Beaumont."

"Constantin Beaumont?" the woman paused pensively. "No, I don't recall him. But you know, we have so many patients in here and I have so little space in here." She tapped her head with her finger. "But please thank him on my behalf for putting in a good word. Well, how about I show you around?"

"Please."

Sister Ethel lead the way out of the office. She pointed at the rooms as they walked back to the entrance.

"Let me show you the chapel," she said as they crossed the garden to approach a little chapel with purple and blue stained-glass windows. "There's mass here every Wednesday and Sunday."

Inside, it smelled of incense and the air was damp. Next to a golden altar, there was a set of stone steps leading down.

"And here, in the crypt, we have a collection of paintings, relics and sculptures, guests can access it whenever they want. Here, I'll show you, but I warn you, it's not for the faint of heart."

But just as Jessica was going down the stairs, sister Ethel tripped her using her cane and Jessica propelled down to the crypt, landing on hands and knees. Before she could even stand back up, she heard a gate closing behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello, hello! Thank you for reading, I hope you're having fun. I think nuns and monasteries are so interesting, and curiously my first case ever (as a lawyer, well when I was still law student) was about a nun who was kicked out of her convent. I had to learn some Canon Law which is just a whole other world and I also learned nuns can be very, very, mean and cruel in real life. Anyhow, I hope you're staying sane and safe wherever you are!
> 
> Greeting from Colombia


	6. Black and White

As sister Ethel walked away, Jessica rushed towards the gates. The iron bars would be easy to bend.

"Don't!"

A voice startled her, before she could grab the bars. Jessica turned around, she had not realized there was someone else inside the crypt. A man in a ruffled suit walked towards her. He had a small patch of black hair and a beard, product of several days without shaving. His red tie was undone and his shirt was sticking out.

"It's electrified," the man explained, extending his hands to show several blisters and wounds. "I don't recommend it."

"Shit," Jessica said.

She took out her phone, no reception. She used the light to look around, the place was empty, there were only several pillars across the place. They were not regular pillars, they were decorated with several skulls and femurs, arranged in patterns.

"So, they got you too, huh?" the man said.

"Why are you here?" Jessica asked, looking at the skulls.

"I fell behind on my payments."

"I thought this place was free."

The man laughed loudly, but Jessica didn't.

"Oh, you're serious?" he asked, scratching his head. "You don't know?"

"What?"

"The sisters work for all the crime families in the city."

"They what—? Doing what?"

"Cleaning."

"Cleaning?" Jessica asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You know, blood, bullets, even bodies for the right price," the man replied. "They have a crematorium here."

"So that's how they pay for all of this."

"Michael, stop talking to this woman," sister Ethel returned, now carrying and old shotgun. "And you miss, you better tell me the truth. Who sent you here? Why are you asking about Beaumont's son? Are you a cop?"

Though her voice was stern, the sister was distracted as she struggled to load the old shotgun.

"I'm not a cop, okay?"

"This stupid thing," sister Ethel growled.

"I just want to find Constantin, I'm a P.I" Jessica said, reaching for one of the bones from the wall which would make a good lever for the gate. "I was hired to find him."

"Hired by whom? Hey, stop that! Stop!" sister Ethel exclaimed, but she nearly dropped the still unloaded shotgun. "I can't with this thing. Mickey, I'll condone your debt if you knock her out."

Jessica dislodged the femur from the wall just as the man kicked her legs and made her fall to her knees. The bone rolled on the ground and the man picked it up.

"By Marguerite Fournier, alright? I don't want to hurt either of you idiots," Jessica said, standing up, just as the man was swinging the bone her way. She dodged it easily. "So don't make me."

"Marguerite?…That's not a name to be tossed around carelessly, you know?"

"I know," Jessica said, dodging the bone coming towards her.

"Let's see what _she_ has to say about this," sister Ethel said as she placed the shotgun down to take out her phone. "Mickey, you keep working on it."

"Yes, ma'am!" the man replied, swinging a third time, Jessica dodged. "Sorry, Miss, but I really need that debt to be gone."

"How is that my problem," Jessica replied, grabbing the bone and easily snatching it from his hands. Nevertheless, in a second, he stumped on her foot and then poked her eyes, prompting Jessica to drop the femur again. "You little shit! Why the eyes!"

"Marguerite?" sister Ethel asked on the phone. "I can barely hear you, dear. You two, keep it quiet!"

The man used the bone to hit Jessica's legs, as her eyes were still sore. She threw a few punches in the air, but failed to hit him.

"Aha…aha…" sister Ethel said.

Jessica was struck on the jaw, but she was able to punch Michael before he struck her a second time. The man flew across the crypt and landed on the floor.

"I see…Alright, I understand, have a blessed day, dear," sister Ethel saved her phone. "Michael, it's—"

She stopped upon noticing he was knocked out on the ground.

"Oh, Michael. Anyhow, you're good to go, but for the love of God put that bone back in its rightful place! Have you no respect for the dead? Heavens!" sister Ethel complained as she opened the gates. "Have you no respect for anything holy?"

"Says the mobster nun," Jessica replied, pinching her nose to stop some blood coming down. She walked out of the crypt and the sister closed the gates again.

"I'm no mobster!" sister Ethel replied, placing a hand against her chest. "I'm a servant of the Lord."

"I don't remember the Bible mentioning anything about cleaning blood for the mob," Jessica replied, as the two walked through the chapel. "But then again, it's been a while since I've read it."

"The blood that we clean is not on our hands, miss, and I'll have you know that, in this place, we have helped hundreds of people and their families in their hour of need without charging a penny. That's the Lord's work. And, if the price for that is the damnation of my soul, then so be it."

"That's one way to put it."

"You're young, miss, but in time you'll come see that even the best and fairest causes require a questionable action or two."

 _Wouldn't you agree, Jessica?_ Killgrave whispered in her ear.

"You won't find that in the Bible either," sister Ethel continued. "But it doesn't make it less true. You have some blood there."

Jessica looked down at the collar of her shirt.

"I suppose you have some advice on how to get rid of these stains?"

"Ah, dear, I couldn't possibly tell you that for free."

"Figures," Jessica sighed.

"I can tell you about Mr. Constantin, though," sister Ethel said as they walked out of the chapel. "He came here often to talk to sister Helen, I'll take you to her."

They walked out into the garden and followed the way to the little fountain next to which was a woman in a wheel chair and another nun. Sister Ethel said she would look out for the patient, while sister Helen and Jessica had a chat. Sister Helen was young, she had bright green eyes and freckles.

"I'm worried about Constantin," sister Helen said.

"You talked with him often?"

"Ever since his grandmother was here about a year ago, we became friends. After she passed, God rest her soul, Constantin would visit still, and we often talked. He's such a sweetheart."

Jessica raised her eyebrows, definitely most of his girlfriends would disagree.

"Our relationship was completely chaste, needless to say," sister Helen continued. "But I did enjoy his company. Now, I'm no dummy, I know part of the reason he came to visit me was because of the things I hear."

"What sort of things?"

"Well, you know, as we do our _work,_ one hears a thing or two. There was a particular rumor he was interested on," she stopped and briefly looked around before continuing. "You see, apparently someone from Ma Thompson's crew was going to step away. So, Constantin came here hoping I would know who."

"And do you?"

"I'm only telling you about this because I really hope you find him. I'm afraid he might be in trouble. The name of the man who, rumor has it, was going to leave Ma Thompson is Toby Andrews."

Jessica took out her phone to show her a picture of the man in the motel's security footage.

"Is this him?"

Sister Helen looked at the screen and nodded.

"Did Constantin say anything else?"

"No, and I don't know what trouble he might have gotten himself into. I do wish I hadn't mentioned any of this to him, but I hope you find him, Ms. Jones."

"I hope so too," Jessica replied, but what she really hoped was to find him without having to do any questionable actions.


	7. Duels and Distractions

_The lunch during which the Beaumont's were supposed to go through the key points of the next day's meeting with the "investors" had quickly turned into a bickering match. Among the shouting and the spitefulness, Jessica sneaked outside and decided to sit by the pool._

Maybe all families are doomed to the same fucked-up fate.

_Jessica wished she could call Trish and see how she was doing, she wished they'd just chat, maybe laugh, and it'd be that simple. It wasn't. Since their falling out, nothing seemed simple anymore._

_"Mind if I join you?"_

_Jessica looked up to see Marguerite Fournier, she had a lit cigarette in her mouth. Jessica nodded._

_"Are they always like this?"_

_"You get used to it after a while," Marguerite replied, taking off her shoes to dip her feet in the water. "Are you ready for tomorrow?"_

_"Sure."_

_"I'm glad we can have someone with your powers instead of guns, guns and more guns," she said as the smoke escaped her lips. "It gets so messy sometimes and I do hate violence."_

_"I'm sorry to tell you, but you kinda chose the wrong career path then."_

_"Choose it?" Marguerite chuckled. "Oh no, I was...how did they use to say? A 'troubled youth', so I didn't have a lot to choose from. Every opportunity I got, I had to take. I chose this life as much as you chose your powers, Ms. Jones."_

_Marguerite stopped to smash what was left of her cigarette against the tiled floor._

_"The funny thing is," she continued, "regardless of how you got them, your powers, I'm willing to bet you wouldn't give them back."_

_She looked at Jessica who simply stared at the sunlight bouncing on the water. She hadn't really thought about that. Why would she? Why dwell on something she couldn't change?_

_"It's the same with my 'career path'," Marguerite concluded, then she smiled. "I guess in the end, power, whatever its nature, works more or else the same."_

* * *

_There are people who can't sit still for five minutes, and then there's Tamara "Ma" Thompson._

Thompson was a tall black woman in her forties whose curly hair often fell freely over her shoulders. Ma Thompson prided herself on being a self-made woman, who, unlike the Beaumont's, had worked hard for her business instead of inheriting it, as she'd tell you herself. All week long, Jessica followed her and her crew. There were no signs of Toby Andrews. It couldn't be a coincidence that he too seemed to be missing. Jessica watched from a rooftop as Ma Thompson entered the warehouse which functioned as her primary headquarter. Jessica was too far away to see what was going on inside, but she couldn't get any closer without risking to be seen.

Jessica's phone rang, startling her. It was Trish.

"Jess, where you in a fire a couple of days ago?"

"Oh, we're not wasting time with chitchat, that's new."

"Jess."

"No, I like it."

"Jess!"

"It was a small fire, nothing to worry about, I would barely—wait, who told you about that?"

"I read it on a tabloid. There's a picture of you carrying a naked man who they call, and I quote, your secret lover."

"Shit…"

"It also says you saved two people."

"Is it 'saving' if you're the one who started the fire in the first place?"

"What?"

"It's just a case I'm working on. No secret lover, I'm afraid."

"It never is. So, how can I help?"

"By staying far from this mess, the furthest, the better."

"Jess…"

"I'm serious, I don't want to put you in danger, okay? Because I—She's moving. Sorry, I have to go."

And just like that Ma Thompson was moving again. Nevertheless, Jessica was exhausted, her head was throbbing again, and she was barely gathering new information. What she needed was to go into that warehouse, and she had an idea how. That night, Jessica gave Hogarth a call.

"Jessica?"

"I need a favor."

"What precinct?" Hogarth sighed.

"What?"

"You're not in jail?"

"Not yet. No, listen, I need you to talk to someone…"

"A police officer?"

"I'm _not_ in jail."

"Sorry, just making sure. Who is it?"

"Ma Thompson."

"You're kidding."

"Yes, I'm known for my sense of humor, aside from my great people skills."

"Jessica, I can't just reach out to Thompson, I have a reputation."

"That's exactly why it wouldn't be suspicious for you to meet her."

"Meet her?"

"Listen, I need Ma Thompson busy for an hour or so, so I can go into her hideout. I wouldn't ask you, if it wasn't important."

Hogarth sighed deeply.

"Fine, but this will cost you."

"Yeah, yeah, we both know I'll do your biding."

"Fine, I'll give her a call."

"Do you need her number?"

"I have it."

"Of course you do."

Hogarth rolled her eyes and ended the call.

Sitting behind her desk, Hogarth looked at her hands, as if for the first time they appeared to be separate arbitrary beings. How time did she have before they began shaking, and how much time after that? The second one was easy to answer, as much time as she decided because she _would_ decide even if it was quite literally the last thing she ever did. The phone rang, announcing Tamara Thompson had arrived.

Hogarth stood up and approached the door where she soon stood face to face with Ma Thompson, who was wearing a green coat and a black dress.

"Jeryn Hogarth," Thompson said, looking at the lawyer from head to stilettos. "I thought you'd be taller in person."

Hogarth remained confused for a moment, especially considering the woman was several inches shorter than herself.

"Don't worry," Thompson continued as she took a seat in front of the desk. "I'm used to being disappointed."

Hogarth shook her head slightly as she closed the door. Okay, she smiled, she liked a challenge.

"Doesn't sound like a good way to run a business, it seems," Hogarth replied, taking a seat as well.

"And yet, business is booming, isn't that why you called?"

"I called because it could be better."

"You know, I asked around about you," Ma Thompson said, leaning back on the chair.

"Most of my cases are well documented by the media."

"But, I didn't say I asked about your cases, did I? I said, I asked about _you._ And I have to admit, I'm impressed."

Hogarth looked at her and simply smirked as she raised an eyebrow, as if saying _of course you are._

"A trailer park kid who now has one of the most important law firms in the city. I respect that, as someone who had to build herself from the ground up. What I don't respect—"

Thompson made a small pause, savoring the fact Hogarth's smirk had faltered slightly.

"—is the fact you disowned your family. What, did you become too good for them?"

"Whatever happened or didn't happen between me and my family has no bearing to our business," Hogarth replied calmly, yet she wondered if Jessica was done, so she could end the conversation.

"But that's where you're mistaken, Jeri, may I call you Jeri? See, you want to know why business is booming? It's because I make sure I'm well acquainted. Surrounded by the right people, which means I only do business with people I can call _the right people_. Are you following?"

"I hear you," Hogarth forced a smile. "I haven't met the first criminal that doesn't have a moral code."

"Ah, see, that's what I like about you, Jeri. That fire. I can tell you cut a throat or two to get where you are, and I like that. But I'm not a criminal. I'm a business woman, and a mother first. I mean it when I said I only work with the right people, do you know who those are? The people who have lost everything, the runaway men and the battered women, the trailer park kids and the ones who were raised by the streets, like you and me, that's my people. My children."

Hogarth remained silent, Thompson continued.

"And no matter how big I get or how much money I make, they remain my family, Jeri and I'm proud of them for what they are. No pretenses and no lies. So yes, I care about the fact you disowned your own family the moment you had a taste of success. That's why we're not working together."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"But, as I said, I do respect you and that's why I'm going to give you some good advice," Ma Thompson said, standing up. Her smile vanished completely as she looked directly at Hogarth's eyes.

"Don't try to fuck with me ever again, Jeri, because next time you'll end up like whoever set you up to do this."

Across town, the bomb had already blown up the warehouse.


	8. Tests

"There's never a dull moment with you, is there?" Trish said, after Jessica finished talking.

Trish looked ahead, there was some traffic, but they were relatively close to the hospital.

"Living my best life, I guess."

Jessica touched her arm carefully, it was swollen and, though she'd never admit it, the tingling around the lodged metal was starting to worry her.

"When did you even work for the mob? Before all of this, I mean."

"That's another long story and we're almost at the hospital, so—"

"Make it short."

"I needed money."

"You could've asked."

"It was after I dropped out of college. We had just fallen out, and you weren't doing _great._ "

"Still."

"Well, it was only for a weekend and everything went to hell, if that makes you feel better."

"Why would it?"

Jessica gave her a small shrug, which made her arm burn and she did her best no to grimace.

"You know," Trish said, pensively, "an exposé of the mob would be great for the show."

"Yeah, to _die_ for."

"I know, I know I can't do it, it's too dangerous, but it'd be great. Who knows maybe after all of this quiets down…"

"Trish…"

"Yeah, no, you're right. It's just…I need a good story. I want to talk about something. That matters for a change. I'm just so tired of talking about therapeutic pottery and celery diets. I look back and wonder what am I doing, who cares about this shit." She stopped to look at her phone, a message flashed briefly on the screen. Trish used one hand to quickly lock the phone again, hoping Jessica hadn't noticed.

"Why the hell is Dorothy texting you?"

Trish sighed.

"It's a long story…and look, the hospital is right over there."

"Make it short, then."

"We've been talking, okay?"

"You've been talking?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know, I just want to understand why you are fucking gal pals with the woman who put you through hell."

"We're not 'gal pals'. We're just…keeping in touch."

"There's no 'just keeping in touch' when it comes to Dorothy. She's toxic. You know how it is, she'll drag you down. Trish, that woman—"

"Is still my mother, Jess."

"Are you defending her?"

"I'm not. Listen, it's not like I'm welcoming her into my life with arms wide open, okay? So, yeah, we're just talking," Trish said, as she parked the car by the hospital's entrance. "You don't need to remind me what she's like, in case you forgot, I've been knowing her far longer than you have. Now, let's go so you can get fixed."

"It's too late for that. I'll settle for having this shit taken out of my arm."

* * *

They did, and there was blood.

Jessica watched as Claire stitched her arm. Since the entire hospital staff had silently agreed that powered people were "Claire's thing", she had been summoned as soon as Jessica stepped inside.

"The metal got out relatively easy," Jessica said, looking at the discarded piece. "It was bigger than I expected."

"It was pretty big. Do you want to keep it?"

"Sure, I'll hang it over my bed," though Jessica chuckled, she was starting to feel light headed.

"Fancy."

"Nothing screams glamour like scrap metal."

"You're lucky it didn't go in deeper, you know? Some more force or a different angle and I'd be sewing your entire arm back on." Claire replied, carefully handling the needle. "It's the infections we have to worry about now, but you were lucky, Jessica."

"That's me, lucky as usual. Can you really do that? Sew an entire arm?"

"Sometimes."

"Really? That must be—"

Jessica had to stop to take a deep breath. She wasn't squeamish, but the walls were blurring slightly and she feared she would have to run to the bathroom.

"Do you need a moment?" Claire asked.

"No, do your thing."

"It might be the blood loss," Claire said, as she resumed the stitching.

"Maybe, but I've been feeling like shit for a while now."

"Before the metal in your arm? We're almost done."

"I'll take the metal over the constant nausea any day."

"Okay, here we go. You need to keep your arm still. I know you're a fast healer, but you'll be using a sling for a few days, understood?"

"When you say few…?

"Five days, _at least,_ " Claire replied, helping Jessica place her arm on a blue sling.

"Five!"

"Make it a week, just to be sure."

"Shouldn't have asked."

"And I'm going to take a blood sample in order to run some tests and make sure everything's okay," Claire said, while getting a new needle ready. "Extend your arm, the healthy one, of course."

Jessica obeyed.

"Also, a pregnancy test."

"What! Ow!", Jessica exclaimed as the needle pierced her skin. "I'm not pregnant."

"When was your last period?"

Jessica was silent. When _was_ her last period? She had been pretty busy lately, saving the city and whatnot, so she hadn't exactly been keeping track.

"It could explain the nausea and the dizziness," Claire continued, calmly. "In any case, I need to be sure you aren't before taking an X-Ray."

Jessica sat there in complete silence, as if all the words had been drained from her along with the red liquid in the vial Claire carefully stored and labeled.

"I'll call you with the results as soon as the lab has them."

There was no answer.

"Jess?"

Claire looked up, only to discover Jessica had already left the room.

* * *

To her credit, Jessica did try to rest, but after a few moments alone with her thoughts, she stood up from the bed and walked to her desk. Work was something to keep herself busy. Work was something she understood. And work had nothing to do with the words Claire had said.

_Focus…focus…_

The mob was no longer the scariest thing in her life. She carefully reviewed all her notes, and continued piecing them together. There might have been something she overlooked, something new, something important. Then it occurred to her, just as she looked at a picture Constantin had uploaded a while back. It was an old photograph of him as a kid with his grandmother over a small wooden house somewhere. It was probably taken in the summer because he was wearing shorts and the caption read: _One year without you, Nana._

_The grandma._

She was clearly close to Constantin, everyone had mentioned it. Jessica called Marguerite.

"It's two AM, Jessica, unless you're calling to tell me you found Constantin, I'm going to hang up."

"I need you to tell me about the grandma."

"What?"

"Nana. Where was she from? Where is she buried? All you can find."

Marguerite sighed deeply.

"I'll send you that tomorrow, later today, I mean. Good night."

"Wait—" Jessica said, but the call was over.

What she really needed was an excuse, any excuse to keep working. Jessica took the bottle of scotch from her desk and took a sip. She tasted it in her mouth, was about to gulp it down, but rushed to the bathroom instead and spat it in the sink. What a waste, she thought as the brown liquid trailed slowly towards the drain.

 _The grandma?_ Killgrave appeared, leaning against the bathroom door. _That's the best you've got?_

_There's something important there._

_Speaking of something important…_

_Shut up._

_It's almost funny, isn't it? You're probably the last person that should be trusted with a—_

_I told you to shut up._

_Who's the father?_

Jessica rubbed her temples and leaned on the sink with her healthy hand. She had a headache.

_You don't even know, do you?_

_Shut up. I don't even know if I'm—_

_Some stranger from the bar?_ Killgrave laughed and then began to clap slowly. _Bravo, Jessica. Always the hopeless romantic, huh? What a waste of genetic potential._

"Shut up!" Jessica said, hitting the sink as she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Killgrave had disappeared, but the sink was cracked. She sighed and returned to her desk, but just as she opened her computer, his voice whispered:

_You can't run away from this, Jessica Jones…_


	9. Advice

"What are you doing here, Jessica?" Dorothy asked, right after opening her apartment's door. "And what the hell happened to your arm?"

Jessica stopped. What _was_ she doing there so early in the morning? Well…she was there because she was restless and she was there to…to make sure Dorothy understood she was on thin ice. Yeah, very thin ice. She was there to let Dorothy know that she better tread lightly because she would be watching closely.

"You've been talking to Trish," Jessica replied, stepping into the apartment.

"Oh, it's about that," Dorothy sighed, closing the door.

"What are you after? Money? The spotlight? Some endorsement for that shitty insecurities factory you call an agency?"

"I just want a relationship with my daughter," Dorothy said, crossing her arms. "That's not a crime, Jessica."

"With you, it's a matter of time before it turns into one."

"Listen, I'm not after anything, I just want to have my daughter back in my life…Of course, if she wants to help my agency, I won't stop her."

"Do you love her?"

Maybe that was the reason why Jessica was there. Perhaps what she really wanted was to hear Dorothy say she didn't love Trish. Because how else…how else could Dorothy be explained? How else could someone treat their child like she had?

"What?"

"Do you love Trish?"

Jessica looked at her, frowning, yet when she spoke, her voice was slightly shaky, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Dorothy.

"Of course I do."

"Did you love her when you were shoving your finger down her throat?"

"Jessica!" Dorothy exclaimed and then walked towards the kitchen. "It's too early for this, I need some coffee."

"Well, did you?" Jessica insisted, following her into the kitchen.

"You don't understand," Dorothy sentenced as she took out a bag of grounded coffee. "You have no idea of how things were before…when her father was still around."

Trish's father was a subject Dorothy had never touched, a sort of dark spot Jessica had glimpsed at through bits of information Trish dropped occasionally. Those scraps of information were enough for her to know that there was a good reason he was never mentioned.

"You don't know how that is," Dorothy continued, while pouring some water for the coffee. "You can't know what it's like."

Jessica was about to speak, but Dorothy continued.

"Yeah, yeah, your family died, that's sad and all, but they were never…You don't know how it feels to be so afraid of someone you love. Someone who says he loves you too. Add to that the pressure of not knowing if there'll be enough money to buy food this week and you get a complete nightmare."

Dorothy sighed and glanced at the brewing coffee.

"When that's all you know," she continued, "it's easy to mistake it for love. So, yeah, Jessica, I loved my daughter the only way I knew how."

"A shit way," Jessica said, leaning against one of the counters.

"I'm not proud of some of the things I did, but at the time, everything I did, I did convinced it was in Trish's best interest."

Jessica looked as Dorothy, she seemed earnest, and that made everything infinitely more terrifying.

"But I'm not that person any more, and the last thing I want is to hurt my daughter again."

"But how do you know you won't?"

It wasn't an accusation or a threat, which once again caught Dorothy's attention. She opened one of the cabinets and took a mug down.

"What's really going on, Jessica?"

"I don't trust you."

"Well, I don't trust you either, but you don't see me waltzing into your apartment at five in the morning," Dorothy sighed again and placed a second mug on the counter. "Are you going to prison again or something?"

"I didn't go last time."

"Oh, that's right," Dorothy said, while pouring two cups of coffee. "And this time?"

"No prison this time, sorry to disappoint you."

"I'm used to it. Here, it looks like you could use some."

Dorothy offered her one of the cups, it seemed like a sort of peace offering, and though Jessica hesitated, she received it. God knew she did need some coffee. Honestly, she needed something a lot stronger than coffee.

"Thanks," she murmured, before taking a sip.

"You know, some concealer could get rid of those dark circles under your eyes."

"Yeah? Don't say," Jessica replied, dryly.

"You could look pretty if you put some effort."

"I'll pass on the beauty tips, thanks." Jessica glared at her and took a sip of coffee. "But, do you know how to get rid of blood stains?"

"Dishwashing detergent and hydrogen peroxide should do the trick."

"Of course, you know how to get rid of blood stains."

"I thought by this point you'd know too."

"I just get new clothes. Don't," Jessica warned noticing Dorothy opening her mouth, "get started on my clothes."

Dorothy took a sip of coffee instead. Jessica followed.

"You know?," Dorothy said. "I do appreciate the way you look after Trish, I do. I just wish you wouldn't constantly put her in danger."

"Well, for once I agree," Jessica said as she placed the empty mug on the counter, she walked towards the exit. Dorothy followed her.

"Jessica."

She stopped at the door, and looked at Dorothy.

"Cold water."

"What?"

"For the clothes."

"Oh…okay."

"And don't get yourself killed or whatever."

"Can't make promises," Jessica replied before leaving. "Thanks for the coffee."

Back in the street, Jessica stopped and tried to figure out if she had really just shared a cup of coffee with Dorothy Walker.

_That's what it has come to._

She looked at her phone again, no signs from Claire or the hospital. Jessica sighed and began walking. It was terrifying. She couldn't have a kid. Not her, not after the things she had done, the corpses she had left behind. And yet…there was something about the idea that didn't seem …completely awful. That was perhaps the most terrifying thought of all.

Her phone rang. She held her breath.

When Malcom's name appeared on the screen, she exhaled.

"Jess, are you in the office?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"I'm out."

"There's a strange car parked outside, it's been there all morning and I have feeling they're here for you."

"Shit. Go into my office and take the computer, save it at your place."

"Okay."

"If you can, send me a picture of the car."

"I'll send it to you as soon as I have it."

A few moments later, Jessica confirmed her suspicions. She had seen the car parked at Ma Thompson's warehouse. They not only knew Jessica was alive, but they had also traced her back to her building. Great. Now they were either waiting for her to return or preparing for breaking in at night. Either way she couldn't return to her place.

* * *

After Griffin Sinclair finished cleaning the engagement ring, he carefully saved it back in the velvet case. He had cleared his schedule for the day, hoping he'd be celebrating with Trish, just a quiet day for the two of them to spend time together. Now he was alone in his apartment, wondering if he should call Trish and find an excuse to ask her to go out tonight and maybe try again. Nevertheless, he knew she had a lot of work to go through, especially since she had left the office early yesterday to go out with him.

Griffin sighed, he knew he would always be second when it came to Jessica, and that was alright, but just for one night... That's all he wanted, one night for the two of them. Was that too much to ask? The doorbell rang. Griffin walked towards the entrance, trying to remember if he had ordered anything.

"You have to be kidding me," he mumbled as he looked through the peephole.

He opened the door, while saving the ring case in the pocket of his jacket.

"Jessica Jones," Griffin said. "Just the person I wanted to see right now."

"Hey…" Jessica replied. "I…can I come in?"

"I guess," Griffin concluded, as Jessica stepped inside. He closed the door. "How's the arm? Trish told me you were in an accident yesterday."

"It looks worse than it is. Listen, I hate to barge in like this, but I sort of need a place to hangout for a moment, charge my phone, and then I'll leave you alone."

"You came here to charge your phone?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Did they cut your power or something?"

"Not exactly, but I just can't go to my place right now, and I didn't want to go to Trish's, in case someone is following me. Don't worry, though, I'm pretty sure no one is."

"For some reason that doesn't make me _not_ worried. Who exactly would be following you?"

"It's better you don't know."

"Listen," he said, firmly. "If I'm going to get murdered because of this, I think I deserve to know who did it."

"You're _not_ getting murdered, okay? No one's getting murdered. But in the small chance you do, it's Ma Thompson and her people."

"Thompson…Shit, that's some…that's someone you don't want to cross."

"Oh, you think? I'll keep it in mind, thanks," Jessica replied, looking for a socket to charge her now dead phone. "So…when are you going to propose?"

"What?"

"I saw the case."

"Funny story about that…I was about to last night, then you called."

"Oh shit, sorry," Jessica said, plugging her phone. "It's probably for the best, though."

"What?"

"I think she would have said no."

"Do you have a problem with me, Jessica?" Griffin asked, frowning.

"No, believe it or not, I think you're actually not bad, you should see some of the creeps Trish has come across. You're…fine. That's exactly why I'm telling you."

"Why do you think she'd say no then?"

"She's worried about her career right now."

"She's always worried, I know she's passionate about her work."

"You don't understand." Jessica turned to face him after leaving her phone on a nearby table. "She's restless. I've seen it before. She was also restless right before she gave up on her music career and began with Trish Talk. My guess is marriage is not on her mind right now, especially to someone who's doing the work she wished she was doing herself."

"You really think she feels that way?"

"Propose, don't propose, she's your girlfriend, but if I were you, I would wait for her to figure out what's the next step for her career before dumping marriage on her."

Griffin paused pensively.

"You might actually have point."

"Yeah, that's just me, full of wisdom…and booze."

"Speaking of, do you want something to drink?"

 _Want_ yes, it wasn't a matter of want. Jessica glanced briefly at the black screen of her phone.

"I'm taking antibiotics and shit," she replied, slightly moving the arm on the sling. "But thanks."

As her phone came back on, Jessica checked for any missed calls. Only one for Marguerite. She had also sent her all the information she had on the Beaumont grandma. There didn't seem to be much on Judith Beaumont before she ran away with the infamous bootlegger Guillaume Beaumont and became a New York socialite. She was from a small town in the north, Marguerite had to look for the name, but she would text it to Jessica when she had it. Judith and Guillaume were both buried there, but the Beaumont's did not own any property in town. Nevertheless, Jessica was convinced that there was a good chance Constantin was hiding there.

The doorbell rang. Jessica and Griffin exchanged a look.

"You said no one was following you," Griffin told her.

"I said I was pretty sure," Jessica replied. "I doubt the mob would bother ringing, but I'll answer that if you want."

Before Griffin had a chance to say anything, Jessica walked towards the door and looked through the peephole.

"Is it the mob?" Griffin asked.

"Worse," Jessica replied, before opening the door.

Dorothy walked into the apartment.

"What are you doing here?" Jessica asked, closing the door again.

"I should ask you the same!" Dorothy exclaimed placing her hands on her hips. "I knew something was off when I saw you this morning! I should have seen this coming. But you? I thought you were better than this, shame on you, Griffin Sinclair!"

"What?" he asked.

"How long has this been going on?"

"We're not having an affair, Dorothy," Jessica replied.

"Wait. You thought—" Griffin couldn't continue because he was too busy laughing. "You thought, Jessica and I? That we…!"

"So you're not?"

"God no!"

"It did seem uncharacteristically low for you, Griffin."

"I'm right here," Jessica complained.

"What is going on then?"

"—She was giving me some dating advice."

"—I'm hiding from the mob."

They replied at the same time.

"The mob!" Dorothy said, placing one of her hands on her cheek. "What mess did you get yourself into?" Then she chuckled. "Dating advice, good one, Griffin."

"Is this shit on Jessica day? You're giving me headache."

The doorbell rang again.

"Now what," Griffin complained before opening the door.

Turns out the mob did ring. Two men in tank tops entered the house, with their guns ready. The black fish tattoo on the shoulder of one of them revealed they had been sent by Ma Thompson. In a second, Jessica punched the first guy and used her elbow to hit the second one. Their guns landed on the floor, Griffin kicked one away. Meanwhile the first guy launched himself at Jessica. She struggled but managed to throw him down with her healthy arm. He landed on the floor unconscious.

"Watch out!" Dorothy shouted.

Jessica turned around and managed to dodge an attack from the second guy. She grabbed his arm and landed him on the floor.

"Do you have rope?" she asked Griffin.

"Rope?"

"Wire, anything to tie them."

Dorothy removed the belt from her pants and handed it over.

It was better than nothing, Jessica clumsily struggled to tie the man, but after nearly dropping the belt, Dorothy stepped in to help her. Jessica pulled the belt around the man's wrists tightly.

"Since you're here," she said to the attacker, "tell me something, for how long has Toby Andrews been missing?"

"What's it to you?" The man replied.

"You know, it'd be really easy to break your hands right now…"

"You wouldn't."

She grabbed his right hand and began pushing.

"Stop, stop! Nearly a month!"

The same time Constantin Beaumont had been missing.

"Do you think he wanted to leave Ma Thompson?"

"No one leaves Ma. Plus, Toby would never betray her. Never."

"I found this," Griffin said, as he held a roll of duct tape.

"Wrap their wrists and ankles, and call the police," Jessica instructed.

She reached for her phone. Still no calls from Claire, but Marguerite had texted her the name of the grandma's hometown: Welkin, New York. Jessica saved her phone in her jacket and walked towards the apartment's door.

"Where are you going?" Dorothy exclaimed.

"To the bus station."


	10. The Other Bomb

_Outside, it was raining. Not a light —almost pleasant— rain, but pouring rain, the sort of rain_ _that could only be pleasant inside a house with a good read and some tea. Trish was having neither. She was pacing from one end of the living room to another, occasionally stopping whenever she heard any noise that could be mistaken for the door opening. After a few moments, she stopped again, this time she was sure it was the door, so she ran towards it. Jessica stepped in, soaked, and barely had time to close the umbrella before Trish snatched the plastic bag from her hand. They were sixteen back then._

_“Did you get it?” Trish asked, hurriedly looking inside the bag._

_“You’re welcome,” Jessica frowned, wringing her hair._

_“Took you long enough.”_

_“You got the money?”_

_Trish handed her a crumpled bill, before making her way towards the closest bathroom._

_“I’m soaked! None of your asshole friends could’ve gotten it?” Jessica complained, walking towards her room._

_She knew perfectly well that Ms. Patsy, queen of the school, had no friends. Not really, not when it came to something like this. If she had someone she trusted, anyone at all, she wouldn’t have asked Jessica in the first place. Trish replied something from the bathroom, but her voice was muffled and Jessica couldn’t understand._

_“What?” Jessica asked, changing into a dry hoodie, before walking towards the bathroom door._

_“Did anyone see you?”_

_“No…except a shiton of paparazzi outside the drug store.”_

_“I’m not joking, Jessica. You have no idea what this can do to my career.”_

_“I think a picture of me at the pharmacy wouldn’t be your biggest problem right now.”_

_“_ **You** _are my biggest problem right now.”_

_“Fine, I’ll leave you to it.”_

_“No, wait” Trish said, opening the door. “Did you take the box?”_

_“No, you ripped the whole bag from my hands! I had some gum in there, by the way.”_

_Trish looked around the bathroom floor._

_“There it is,” Jessica said, pointing at the discarded cardboard box by the toilet._

_While Trish grabbed it, Jessica glanced at the test on the counter, but looked away quickly. She reached for the discarded plastic bag and looked for her gum inside it. Upon finding it, she placed a piece in her mouth._

_“Want some?”_

_Trish didn’t answer, she was too focused reading the back of the box._

_“What language is this?”_

_“Let me see.”_

_She handed Jessica the box. The instructions were blurry and small, and nearly impossible to read. She thought she could make out some letters, but she couldn’t be sure it was English._

_“Great. You just had to pick the most confusing one available, didn’t you? Thank you so much, Jessica.”_

_“Stop being so dramatic. How hard can it be? A negative sign means negative and a positive means positive, it’s not rocket science.”_

_Trish sighed deeply and leaned against the wall, rubbing her temples._

_“What am I going to tell my mother?” she asked looking up, the way she did when she didn’t want to cry._

_What would Dorothy say? Honestly, Jessica didn’t know. Perhaps she would immediately drag Trish to the clinic or maybe she would make Trish have the baby to raise it as her own, introducing the world to Patsy’s little sister Betsy or some shit like that, or maybe she’d try to push a pregnant teen storyline._ _But in the end, she could be sure Dorothy would do whatever_ **Dorothy** _wanted to do._

_“You shouldn’t.”_

_“Huh?”_

_“You shouldn’t tell her,” Jessica said, looking straight at Trish’s eyes so she’d know she was serious._

_And just as if she had been summoned, they heard the jingling of keys and steps approaching._

_“Shit,” Trish said, the front door opened._

_“Patsy, love, I’m home,” Dorothy’s voice chanted._

_“Shit, shit, shit” Trish reached for the pregnancy test on the counter, but it slipped from her hand and slid on the floor right by Jessica’s foot._

_“Darling, I was thinking about that…”_

_Jessica grabbed the pregnancy test and hid it in her closed fist, right before Dorothy appeared at the bathroom’s entrance._

_“What are you two doing in there?”_

_“I-I…was lending Jessica some face cream.”_

_“That’s nice of you, but I think it might be a waste of perfectly good cream,” Dorothy said, looking straight at Jessica’s face. The teenager forced a smile, wishing her hands were free to give Dorothy the finger._

“ _When you’re done with charity, we need to talk about the dress for the interview, okay?”_

_Trish nodded and waited for her mother to be gone to exhale._

_“I can’t believe I’m holding your pee-stick,” Jessica whispered._

_“Shh…”_

_“It’s gross.”_

_She tried to give it back, but Trish didn’t take it._

_“I can’t…c-can you look, please?”_

_“Fine.”_

_Trish closed her eyes and took a deep breath as if she was standing in front of a firing squad._

_“What is it?”_

_“It’s…like… a…like half a line?” Jessica scratched her head. “Shit I did get the most confusing ass brand.”_

_Trish looked around for the instructions and they sat on the bathroom floor to decipher it. After looking at it, squinting and holding it closer, there were no closer to understand it. The closest they had to answer were some blurry symbols at the bottom of box._

_“Look, look at this one,” Jessica said, pointing._

_“It looks like an onion.”_

_“An onion? That’s a crossed baby face, see?”_

_“So, it’s negative?”_

_“I think so.”_

_Trish sighed loudly, but added. “I better take another one, just to be sure.”_

_“I’ll get you another brand,” Jessica said, standing up to leave. “Something that’s easier to decipher than the fucking Davinci Code here.”_

_“Jessica,” Trish said, stunned by Jessica’s unprompted offering._

_“Yeah?”_

_“Thank you.”_

* * *

Of the two, Jessica always assumed Trish would be the first to have children. Maybe the only one to do so. It just made more sense. Trish was the one who had her life together, the healthy one, the stable one. She on the other hand, well, she was…Jessica. She stopped that train of thought. She was jumping into conclusions.

Through the windows she could the wooden houses of Welkin. Outside, the sky was blue and the sun was out. As soon as she got off of the bus she asked for directions to the cemetery, which was most certainly not featured in the posters depicting the town’s main attractions. Jessica walked down the streets feeling the warm sunlight on her cheeks, it wasn’t the weather one would associate to a visit to the cemetery. Maybe that was why it was empty.

Jessica walked by the rows of tombstones, looking for Judith Beaumont. She didn’t like cemeteries. She hated cemeteries. They only reminded her about how long it had been since she had last visited her family. She looked away from the worn-down and broken tombstones where the ivy had swallowed the names because she knew that’s how their tombstones must have looked like as well. That’s how they must have looked like because she hadn’t bothered going to the cemetery, not once in the recent years. They didn’t deserve that.

But the memory of last time she had been to the cemetery, when she had had to stand in front of the gravestones, read their names, was still strong and still painful…No, she couldn’t do that again. Not again. She wasn’t strong enough and they were now paying for her cowardice with decay.

Jessica stopped in front of a bright white tombstone. It was spotless so it was easy to read its golden inscription: _“Judith et Guillaume Beaumont, toujours ensemble_ ”. There was a bunch of red poppies by the grave. They were fresh, they couldn’t possibly have been left there more than a couple of days before. Could it be Constantin?

Now, she was off to find the house from the photograph. It should be easy, given she only needed to find the gas station that could be seen nearby. Welkin only had one cemetery and three gas stations. Jessica quickly crossed the first one out and she didn’t make it to the second one because there, in the middle of the street leading to it, was the house from the photograph. It was still old, but it looked in better shape than in the picture. She sneaked by the windows and peeked inside. The living room was empty, there seemed to be some furniture covered with sheets. She walked towards the back of the house where a set of stairs lead to a basement. The door had several locks, and she could hear something from the inside. She pressed her ear by the door.

“Help, help!” it was muffled and desperate, but that was what it was.

Jessica forced the door with her good arm. Inside the basement the air was heavy and sour. She saw a man tied to a chair with chains. He was gagged, but he looked at her and shook, rattling the metallic chains. Jessica recognized him immediately.

“Toby Andrews,” she said out loud.

She walked towards him as he kept mumbling hurriedly. She was about to break his chains when her phone rang. She stopped, it was Claire.

“Jessica. I have the results.”

There was some noise.

“It’s positive.”

“Turn around, very slowly,” a voice ordered from the basement’s entrance. “Don’t try anything stupid.”

She heard a gun cocking.

“Jess?” Claire asked.

Jessica turned around and came face to face with Constantin Beaumont who was pointing a gun at her forehead.

“I’ll have to call you later, Claire.”


	11. De-Escalation

"You're that bodyguard," Constantin said, looking at Jessica. "The hot one."

"If you didn't have a gun, I swear to God," Jessica murmured.

"What's that?" Constantin demanded.

He looked quite different from the last time Jessica had seen him. His blond hair was longer, disheveled, there were dark circles under his eyes, and he clearly had not shaved in days. His hand was also trembling very slightly as he held the gun.

"Listen, man—"

"No, you listen," he interrupted. "Put the phone on the ground, and don't try anything stupid."

Jessica slowly lowered her phone, and placed it on the floor. Then she stretched her palm to show she had nothing to hide.

"W-who sent you?" Constantin barked.

"Marguerite Fournier. She reached out to me because everyone's worried you've been missing. Your father suspects Ma Thompson had something to do with it, so Marguerite wanted to find you before someone starts a war with the Thompsons. By the looks of it, though," Jessica said, gesturing with her head at the bounded man behind her, "it's probably too late for that."

"Marguerite really sent you?"

"Why don't you lower the gun, so we can talk about why the hell Toby Andrews is gagged and tied in your basement."

Constantin hesitated, but he slowly lowered the gun and saved it while he used a hand to run over his head. Jessica picked her phone and saved it as well.

"I just…none of this was supposed to happen," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "It was supposed to be simple, fuck! After I heard Andrews was leaving Thompson I got him talking, you know? Intel and shit. Turns out the bastard was lying the whole time!"

Constantin said, glaring at Andrews who struggled in the chair and tried to say something through the gag.

"Andrews was playing me to get information from _my_ family."

"Does anyone else know he's in here?" Jessica asked.

Constantin shook his head.

Maybe it wasn't too late to avoid a war. Jessica sighed, she would have to de-escalate the situation, something completely out of her comfort zone, given she usually excelled at the opposite.

"Listen, I'm sure we can find a way out of this shitstorm. Take the gag from Andrews so we can talk."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"I think at this point no idea is a good idea. So, listen," she stopped and looked at Andrews, "I think we can all agree we want to avoid a war between the Thompson and the Beaumont families, right? It's bad for business and it usually ends with everyone dead. So, let's talk."

As Constantin removed Toby's gag, the man bit his finger, making Constantin shout as he grabbed it with his other hand and the gag fell on the ground.

"Fuck that! You're done Beaumont, done!" Toby shouted. "I'll kill you and chop your body into little pieces."

"Okay, I see we're not quite ready to talk," Jessica said walking towards them. "Hey, Andrews, you might want to relax here, and wait until you're _not_ tied to a chair before talking about turning someone into confetti, especially when that person is the one who put you there in the first place. Dumbass."

"Don't tell me what to do, bitch!"

He had barely finished when Jessica hit his nose with her palm, making it bleed.

"You really don't want to push me," she warned, and then looked at Constantin. "That goes for both of you. You don't know me, but this is the nicest I get, so don't push me. Understood?"

Constantin raised his hands, while Toby glared at her, a thin red line crawling towards his lips.

"Here's an idea," Jessica continued, "Beaumont, you let Andrews go, in exchange he keeps his mouth shut about this whole thing and we can all pretend none of this happened, how does that sound?"

"No, no way," replied Constantin, "how do I know he won't tell Ma Thompson about this? You heard him, he wants me dead. So, how about I just shoot him instead?"

"Please, if you really had the balls to shoot me, you would have done it already," Andrews scoffed.

"Okay, here's another idea," Jessica intervened, trying to ignore the nausea that was slowly creeping in. "Let's say Beaumont lets you go and you tell everything to Ma Thompson, why would she believe you?"

"Why wouldn't she?" Andrews replied.

"There's no proof, one, and, two, if you ask me, being kidnapped by _him_ isn't that believable."

"Hey!" Constantine complained. "But she has a point. Also, I have this."

Constantin took out his phone and played a recording.

" _I'm done. I'm done with Ma Thompson and all of her shit. I'm in, Beaumont."_

It was. Clearly Andrews speaking.

"I only said that to get your trust, I never meant it!"

"Well, it's not about what you did or didn't mean," Jessica said. "It's a matter of what Ma Thompson believes. Beaumont can let you go and keep the recording as an insurance, so you won't mention this to Thompson. You both get to go back to your lives and nothing's lost. Why don't you think about it?"

She made a dramatic pause, but it was truly an excuse for her to deal with the nausea. She breathed deeply, inhaled, exhaled, and tried not to think much about it.

"It's not enough," Andrews said.

"Walking out of here," Jessica stopped and took another deep breath, " _alive_ isn't enough for you?"

"This motherfucker held me hostage, tied me, left me to starve and made me piss myself. So, no, it's not enough for me."

So _that_ was the smell.

"What do you want then?"

"Money?" Constantin suggested. "How much?"

"I want your car."

"What?"

"Your goddam car, that's what I want."

"The Porsche?"

"The Jag."

"Oh no, no, no, no."

"You can't," Jessica intervened, "suddenly show up in his goddam car. It'll raise questions."

"Yeah, yeah, Andrews, it'd be weird, suspicious. Can't be done."

"I won't drive it around, asshole. I want it so I can tear it apart and sell it piece by piece."

"Fine," Jessica said, still fighting the nausea.

"No, not fine, _not_ fine!" Constantin protested. "No. There must be something else you want."

"It's just a stupid car," Jessica growled.

"Just a car! Just a car! C'mon, Andrews, there must be something else. Name something else, anything."

"Your sister."

"Motherfucker!"

Jessica hurried to grab Constantin with her free hand, before he launched himself over Andrews, who simply laguhed.

"Okay, you can drop the sexist bullshit," Jessica warned Andrews and then released Constantin.

"I don't know what you're angry about, Beaumont," Andrews continued. "If it were the other way around, she would pimp you out in a heartbeat."

"Shut up!"

"I need a drink," Jessica said, while rubbing her temples.

"Take that back, asshole!" Constantin yelled.

"Fuck you!"

"ENOUGH," Jessica said, then looked at Andrews. "You shut up, just shut up, or I will personally put the gag back through your teeth. And you!"

She looked at Constantin.

"You give him the goddam car, you can just tell your father to buy you another one, okay? But if this goes on any longer I will personally make sure the only thing you'll be driving in the near future is a wheel chair."

"Fine," Constantin mumbled begrudgingly.

Jessica looked at Andrews.

"Fine," he sighed.

"Okay, so we have deal here. Asshole, untie the other asshole."

Constantin went to undo the bindings around Andrews's wrists and ankles. The man stood up groaning, he stretched his arms and shook his feet. Then moved his neck from one side to the other, and when he was done he jumped over Constantin, trying to reach for the gun. Jessica stepped in the middle of the struggle, trying to separate them.

There was a shot.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hello, hello! Thank for reading. This is my first time uploading here, so I'm learning about the site still. This is a story I've been working on during the quarantine after re-watching Jessica Jones. I didn't really like the second season of the show, so I decided to forget about the mother being alive and the IGH plot. Hopefully you enjoy this story! And wherever you are, I hope you're safe!
> 
> Greetings from Colombia!


End file.
